


Sold Your Soul For Happiness

by youmakemesoangry



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, FakeHaus, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 09:50:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6465610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youmakemesoangry/pseuds/youmakemesoangry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompts: Fakehaus AU: group discourse about the best way to kill a man. I know that sounds really morbid but I can imagine it being a really funny odd conversation</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sold Your Soul For Happiness

_“Fuck off.”_ Adam pauses in the doorway. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and mentally prepares himself to walk into the living room where a heated argument was apparently happening.

He had gotten a text a few minutes earlier from Spoole, just a few button smashes and a ‘come to the life room’, which Adam assumed meant living room, and so. Here he is.

Listening to a group of grown men argue about something unclear.

“No, you fuck off James. You didn’t clarify about torture being a part of it. I thought we were talking about efficiency. But now you’re going the best kind of torture route, which wasn’t discussed.” Joel crosses his arms and slouches down into the couch. Adam walks over and pours two glasses of bourbon. He clinks one glass against Matt’s beer sitting next to the man at the kitchen island, and takes them both back into the living room, handing one to Joel. He brightens slightly, and Adam takes his place in his chair in the corner.

“I didn’t think that it had to be discussed! We kill people, Joel, and torture is almost always a part of that.”

“No torture. Only preferred quickest killing method.” All of the crew turn to look at Matt, before nodding and, in the case of James, rolling their eyes.

“Fine. One bullet through the brain. Quick, efficient,” he says with a glare at Joel, “and silent if you’re good. Which, I am.” James sat back in the couch, smug in his answer.

“If you miss slightly, they’ll still live and slowly bleed out. Not quick, not efficient.” Adam takes a drink as the room looks at him. If he had to leave the paperwork he was doing downstairs, then he was going to judge this circus.

James huffs, and Joel grins smartly at him, and opens his mouth.

“Broken neck.” Joel makes an offended noise at being cut in ‘line’, and glares at Bruce. “They go into spinal shock. They die immediately.” Bruce has his elbows on his knees, and his hands open towards Adam in a ‘c’mon’ gesture.

Adam thinks about it for a few moments, and takes a drink before answering.

“Or you leave them a quadriplegic. Which can be considered a fate worse than death. Not guaranteed at all.” Bruce threw his hands in the air, and joined James in being slumped against the couch.

“Now, before anyone else interrupts me. A knife between the fourth and fifth rib. The quickest way to a man’s heart.”

“Fuck off! That’s not quick at all!” James was upright once again, and pointing an accusatory finger in Joel’s direction.

“Hey! The qualifiers were preferred and quickest. That’s my preferred quick kill. Considering I generally like to take my time, that’s the quickest thing I do.” Joel stood and takes his empty bourbon glass into the kitchen to pour himself some more. Adam takes a large gulp of his, already weary of this conversation.

“While I love your poetics and your sadism, Joel,” Joel makes a happy noise that is muffled by the drink he’s taking, “James is right. Not quick, definitely not guaranteed.” Joel shrugs, as he knows as well as the others that Joel doesn’t always stab to kill. Maiming is mostly his goal.

“Lawrence?” He looks up from his phone, pushes up his glasses, and leans his elbow against the arm of the couch. He stares out the wall of windows with his chin in his hand when he answers.

“Shotgun shell to the throat.” That gets numerous and loud sounds of disgust from around the room, and Adam looks down at his glass, slightly nauseous. “They can’t breathe, and you are almost guaranteed to take out part of their spinal cord.” Bruce and James are still gagging a little theatrically, and Elyse’s initial disgust has turned to a look of contemplation. She’s not big on guns, but she likes efficient chaos.

“Almost.” Lawrence turns to look at Adam, a blank stare like he’s ready to argue Adam’s point. “Almost being the key word there, Larr. The human body is resilient. They’d choke on their own blood through their obliterated throat, and probably make a horrible amount of disgusting noises.” Lawrence stared at him for a few moments, then squinted at him and frowned. He huffed and went back to his phone, causing Matt to huff in amusement.

“You got a better one, Matt?” Matt startles, and puts down his beer.

“I generally find a knife to the top of the skull to be pretty affective.” He shrugs off the wide eyes stares from the crew. “What? The top of the skull is still pretty soft, and the temple is even softer.” Adam has to think about this one for a little bit before he can answer.

“Sorry, Matt. But I’ve seen enough cases where people live without part of their brain. We’ve got a whole crew of ‘em.” The crew makes varying sounds of offence. “Quick and efficient, but not guaranteed. Next?”

Spoole raises his eyebrows from where he is fiddling with his butterfly knife, and when he looks up and sees Adam staring at him, he sighs.

“I mean, if we’re talking about preferred, I like a slit throat as much as anyone else.” The crew nods slightly, unimpressed but in agreement. “But I generally only kill during a fight.” He looks to Joel, who shrugs, knowing that Spoole isn’t judging, just clarifying. God knows that Joel has saved his life enough times through getting information by extraneous means. “If I’m in a fight, I prefer to go for the femoral artery.” Spoole grins as four different members of the Fakehaus Crew grab their crotches, including Adam.

Adam clears his throat, and adjust himself in his pants.

“Um, well. Not quick, per se. If you’d call a four minute bleed out quick, I’d be scared about your careers as murderers,” Spoole grins, “but definitely efficient. Good job Spoole.” He turns slightly red at the praise, and Adam makes, yet another, note to praise him more.

They all turn to Elyse, who widens her eyes in false innocence, and points to herself, mouthing ‘who, me?’. Adam raises an eyebrow at her, and she sits up straight on the stool next to Matt.

“Best Pal knife at the Atlas of the spine.” Bruce furrows his eyebrows at her, and she throws her hands in the air. “I stab the spine real good. I don’t know! Just stab at the base of their skull, and twist. They drop and die immediately. All information from the brain, completely cut off. Poof. No more asshole.”

They’re all quiet. They all stare off into space, and Adam now understands why he was drawn to Elyse at first. Why he knew he needed her to be in his crew.

“You win.” Elyse’s eyes light up, and she claps. The other crew members stand up and groan in frustration, but no one argues. No one does efficient like Elyse. They’re all chatting with each other, heading towards the kitchen for more drinks, when Bruce stops.

“Hey, Adam?” Adam puts down his glass from where he was about to take a drink. He raises his eyebrow in question. “What about you? What devious and horrible murder technique do you prefer?”

“I mean, I’d probably go with James. I prefer a bullet through the skull.” He brings his glass back up to his lips.

“You fucking hypocrite! Goddammit, I hate this whole crew!” James stomps his way to the liquor cabinet, and Adam smiles around his glass.

He’s just happy that this circus is his to run.


End file.
